


in the absence of time

by suaveassassin



Category: Persona 3
Genre: F/M, great seal!minako, more like mutual companionship while floating in an empty void, mostly just implied romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4809680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suaveassassin/pseuds/suaveassassin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time doesn't flow here, and she cannot remember what it feels like to be flesh and bone, but the boy with the yellow scarf and the bright blue eyes is always by her side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the absence of time

Nowadays, there's nothingness. Her body is fractured, soul disconnected from flesh, physical form far away, misty and forgotten. She can't quite remember what she looks like, the memories of living and breathing just out of reach, but she doesn't mind. She feels peaceful here in this white space, this empty void that is not quite empty. He's here, the boy with the yellow scarf and the bright blue eyes. She recognizes him, feels a bond so strong they may as well be the same person, but she can't remember his name. He keeps her company, coming and going every now and then but spending the majority of his time by her side. They rarely speak - speech is not relevant here, and they're so close they can read each other like neon signs. They merely sit, or meander the white space around them, their souls nearly intertwined in the timeless void.

Sometimes he smiles at her, and the expression confuses her. His smile is radiant like the sun, cheerful and bright, but his eyes are sad. The vibrant blue gaze holds so many burdens, so many memories. He looks like he could cry at times, but he smiles nonetheless. She can't remember why he looks so sad, but she feels like she should. It's on the tip of her tongue, just out of reach, a hazy mess of images. She remembers figures, emotions, love and sadness and fear. Sometimes she remembers phrases - 'I love you', 'Have we met before?' - but they're gone in an instant. Nonetheless, she buries her confusion and smiles back at him, her bright red eyes shockingly lively, a contrast against the stark and static white.

When he leaves, she feels a twinge of sadness, as if having him near completes her. She feels like a piece of her consciousness vanishes with him, feels incomplete. She nearly panics in these instances, a rush of emotion that she is no longer used to. But the boy with the scarf always returns, and she is whole again.

The times they speak are fleeting, but comforting. His voice is soft, gentle. It fills the space, surrounding her with a feeling of warmth, and she is happy.  
'I'll never leave you, you know,' he'd told her once after he had been briefly absent.  
'I'll always be by your side, even if you forget about me.'  
She had smiled at him, a mixture of joy and relief filling her consciousness. She'd reached out and squeezed his hand, and he'd smiled back, that same beautifully tragic smile, his scarf billowing behind him in the wind that didn't quite exist.

Time doesn't flow here, and it is impossible to tell how long she had been occupying this space. Had it been hours, years, tens of years? Not that it mattered, not when she had the boy with the yellow scarf beside her. Sometimes a feeling of anxiety would rush over her, an urge to cling to him, to never let him leave her, not again. Again? Her memories were still absent, hazy at best. When she felt this way, he would sense it, and move in closer. Despite the coldness of the space around them, despite their lack of physical forms, he's oddly warm. It comforts her, and she forgets her fears.

Rarely, she finds herself questioning why she's here. Is this the world? Is this all there is? Perhaps a great catastrophe occurred, and they were the only two beings left to occupy this vast space? The questions make her head pound. He looks at her in concern; it's best not to ponder it. There are forces here beyond human (or perhaps former human?) understanding.

One day, she remembers something. The boy with the scarf - he had a name. Was it Ryoji? No - he is Death, thirteenth major arcana, the one that never should have come to be. But she shakes her head - wrong, he's Ryoji, the boy who had been her friend, the boy who had brought warmth and joy. Had she loved him? A blank space in her memory; the answer was beyond her reach.

"Ryoji," she calls, maroon eyes fixated on her scarf-clad companion. His eyes light up, a genuine smile so full of relief and joy spreading across his visage that it practically causes the space between them to ripple with emotion.

"You remembered me."


End file.
